Thursday, June 11, 2015

How Some Poems Arrive

How Some Poems Arrive

This time the poem
came all aflutter after
the sun hit high noon.
It spun like leaves do.
landing in the lilly patch
beside your new green
sprites stuck ankle deep
in odd haphazard places,
you spurning straight rows
which I agreed made sense
since it was green sprites
we were growing at this time
no matter what they
said.

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I arived with the windAnd left with the moonI tried to stayBut it was just too soonLike a shag carpetOn LSDThe leaves mooved With syncronisity It was just too muchI couldn't stayThought I wouldDrop a lineAs if to sayI dropped byIt was a tripHave a good day

The View From The Northern Wall

Some years ago my poetry took on a mythic flavor and I became a character in my own poems, a mage, "the man of the Northern Wall". This apellation is not completely fictional. My middle name is Noordwal, a Dutch term for north wall, though in current Dutch it mainly means north bank as in riverbank. I was told that an ancestor, a Portugese Jew escaping the Inquisition, settled in a small Dutch town and took this name from where he settled, near the north wall of the town. I have thought for a long time that -wal meant wall, think my mother told me that. A linguist might say that my usage is no longer common, is an older usage, but then the Inquisition happened in Portugal a few centuries ago, right around the time the Moors lost control of the Iberian Peninsula and the Jews lost the modest protection given them by Islam. Now I write as this mage, my poetry persona.